


oh, your love is sunlight

by Mallowleaf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (sort of), Aziraphales' aura warms up Crowley, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cold Weather, Comfort, Crowley is cold-blooded, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussions of auras, Fluff, Footnotes, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), he's snake like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallowleaf/pseuds/Mallowleaf
Summary: Crowley sought out warmth in his own time. He lingered by fireplaces, brushing his hand out to grab the sparks that leapt from the logs. He basked in the light of the sun, face turned upwards at the sky. He lost himself in crowds of people, drawing heat from contact with their flushed skin as he passed.But by far the greatest source of warmth came from a rather unexpected source - Aziraphale himself.(OR crowley can't handle the cold, but thankfully there's a certain angel who can help him stay warm)





	oh, your love is sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> so i read the book and watched the show too many times, and the next thing i knew the only thing i could think about was good omens and this fic was born! i love the headcanon that because crowley is a snake he's cold blooded, and of course the thought of crowley and aziraphale cuddling made me soft and i literally couldn't resist making this fic lol
> 
> the title is from the song "sunlight" by hozier, whose songs have such strong ineffable husband vibes. i can't listen to his songs without having a good omens inspired meltdown 
> 
> also i tried to link the footnotes, but no matter what i did, they didn't work? so the footnotes are in the end note section, and i will attempt to figure out where i went wrong with the links lol
> 
> hope you enjoy this fic!!!

There are few things that demons hate more than the light. 

It’s mostly due to inconviencence’s sake. Doing demonic deeds in the light of day isn’t particularly impossible, but it does make the whole lurking about part about much harder, which is almost always essential to whatever demonic deed was being performed.

Light was also a reminder of Heaven, of angels and goodness and all the things that made the demon's skin crawl. Hell, on the other hand, is dimly lit by vaguely threatening lights that flickered more than they actually shed light, and anything brighter than that made their eyes burn and water. 

But, of course, there were always exceptions to every rule, and Crowley was one of the biggest exceptions. 

Crowley is, at the very core of his being, a snake. He has long ago adopted a more human-like form, but it’s hard to forget one’s true nature. He slunk around rather than walk, hissed his words whenever he felt particularly demon-like and, most importantly, sought out all sources of heat like his life depended on it. 

Which, depending on which angle you looked at it, was quite true.

On the one hand, Crowley was perfectly capable of existing without needing heat at all hours of the day. He could survive in cold weather well enough, could walk through freezing temperatures without the fear of discorporation. On the other hand, being exposed to the cold for too long left Crowley slow, limbs dragging behind with a strong desire to curl up into a ball and sleep for a few hundred years.

And while he didn’t mind sleeping for long, uninterrupted periods of time,1 there were still jobs he had to carry out, and he knew Hell wouldn’t be too pleased to know that he had blown off his temptations to sleep. 

So he sought out warmth in his own time. He lingered by fireplaces, brushing his hand out to grab the sparks that leapt from the logs. He basked in the light of the sun, face turned upwards at the sky. He lost himself in crowds of people, drawing heat from contact with their flushed skin as he passed. 

But by far the greatest source of warmth came from a rather unexpected source - Aziraphale himself. 

All living creatures had an aura. Most couldn’t see it for themselves, but of course the aura’s affinity for being invisible didn’t cancel out the fact of its existence. Those who could see them spoke of the colors that dictated a person’s mood, debated the meanings of smaller auras versus larger ones and, if they squinted, could even discern some implication of who the owner of the aura really was. 

However, most of these people were hardly scraping the surface when it came to auras. Guessing a person’s mood was all well and good, but it’s really just a party trick more than anything else. Most people2 could hardly dream of the things auras really could do. Auras could interact with others around it and, if said person was rather responsive to auras, they could feel it. 

Angels and demons, as they were not human but something far more otherworldly, fell solidly into the category of beings who were all too aware of the effect of auras. 

When Crowley first met Aziraphale, back in the garden of Eden when his name was still Crawly and his form was more snake than human, the angel’s aura burned bright with a heavenly glow that made Crowley’s skin prickle and burn. When the angel’s aura brushed up against the demon’s, the two auras reacted similarly to oil being poured into a glass of water. 

Crowley made sure to maintain a healthy distance from Aziraphale after that. 

This was, of course, not the last time he ran into the angel. Aziraphale somehow managed to pop up by Crowley’s elbow out of the blue with a smile and some inane comment about food whenever the demon least expected it. His aura was always just as eager as him, glaringly bright and burning Crowley’s eyes. 3

Together, they passed the years. Crowley wiled, Aziraphale thwarted. They met under tentiviave truces and drank, complaining about their respective head offices and arguing about inane topics.4 It was from these meetings that the Arrangement emerged. After all, one does warm up to the one familiar face after centuries of being around each other. 

The more time Crowley spent around Aziraphale, the better he got to know the angel. He could distinguish between the different smiles that often graced the angel’s face.5 He knew all of Aziraphale’s favorite foods and the best places to get them. He could even rattle off a list of Aziraphale’s favorite books, in alphabetical order and the dates in which he got them. 

If Crowley was ever asked exactly why he had this information, he would claim that it was just a step in his plan to defeat his Adversary once and for all. After all, that was his job up on Earth - thwart any attempts at good doing to give Hell the upper hand. Of course, if one really thought about it, knowing that Aziraphale preferred pears to peaches wasn’t exactly information that could put an end to Heaven once and for all. But Crowley would rather be discorporated than admit that his steadily growing knowledge about Aziraphale was purely for personal reasons; he was a demon after all, and it’s common knowledge that demons didn’t care about anything or anyone -especially not angels. 

Another thing that was less noticeable at first was the effect Aziraphale’s aura was having on Crowley. The more Crowley ran into the angel, the longer he was able to hang around without feeling like he was standing under the sun without any risk of burns. Soon standing a respectable distance away turned into bumping shoulders when they walked. Soon sitting across from the angel turned into sitting next to him. His smiles stopped hurting Crowley’s eyes, and Crowley found himself trying to coax more of those bright smiles out of the angel. His aura brushing up against Crowley’s no longer felt like sticking his hand into a raging fire, but more like sinking into a warm bath. 

Which shouldn’t have been happening. Crowley was a demon and Aziraphale was an angel. They were hereditary enemies, as Azirphale had once so eloquently stated. Demons were not supposed to seek out an angel’s company, and angels were certainly not supposed to tolerate them. 

That never stopped them from spending time together, or stop them from enjoying the time spent together. It didn't stop Crowley from seeking the angel out.6

And of course meeting up with Aziraphale had the added perk of giving the warmth that Crowley so desperately needed.

Most of the time Crowley was able to get through any weather London threw at him. The weather was never too extreme and any venture out into the cold could easily be remedied by a quick drink or brushing up against Aziraphale for a jolt of angelic warmth. 

But sometimes the temperature dipped below freezing, down to temperatures that were much harder to shake off. On days like that, Crowley would stay in his flat and wait for warmer weather. 

On the day in question, the weather had started off as one might expect of a typical London day: overcast. The threat of rain hung heavy in the air, and the wind that blew hid a biting chill underneath it. 

Normally, Crowley would spend days like this inside, away from the threatening weather. He would talk to 7his plants, sleep or - if he was feeling particularly up to it - drive around in the Bentley with no clear destination in mind. 

But today, he had plans. 

The demon found himself sitting on a park bench in St. James’ Park. 8He was early, and therefore spent most of his time sinking the ducks that swam up to him. Most were looking for bread, but Crowley didn’t have any, so when no bread was forthcoming they went off to harass an American cultural attaché wearing a cheap wig. 

Crowley closed his eyes and leaned his head back, resting his head on the back of the bench. The wind had picked up as he walked through the park, and the chill had dropped from being a slight nuisance to a rather present thorn in his side. The wind danced around him, weaving its way through his hair and blowing his jacket open. 

He hadn’t exactly dressed for the cold, but Crowley never did. He’d be blessed if he allowed his appearance be marred by clothes made purely for warmth without any sense of fashion in mind. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. 

There was a sudden shift in the air around Crowley; warmth flooded back into the air, and was accompanied by a scent he knew better than anything. He didn’t bother to open his eyes as someone settled down in the seat next to him. “Hello angel.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of answering. 

Raising his eyebrow, Crowley opened his eyes and looked properly at the angel, who was bundled up in a fluffy overcoat, a long scarf that was wound tightly around his throat, and tartan gloves. “I think you might be a tad overdressed.” 

Aziraphale huffed out a breath and crossed his arms. “Really, my dear, I hardly think you’re dressed for this type of weather.” 

"It's not even that cold." Crowley said with a roll of his eyes, brushing off Aziraphale’s concern with ease. “Besides, didn’t you want to show me that restaurant?” 

At the mention of food, Aziraphale brightened considerably. “Oh, yes! It’s really a wonderful little place, and the people there are so nice. I think you’ll like it.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Crowley said wryly. 

“Try to at least keep an open mind, will you?” Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t want to repeat what happened the last time I took you somewhere new.” 

“They overcooked my pasta, angel! What kind of self respecting Italian place overcooks  _ pasta _ ?”

“You’ll like the alcohol, at least.” Aziraphale mused, ignoring Crowley’s complaints. 

“Well, if there’s going to be alcohol, I’m all for it. I could use a drink.” Crowley stretched his arms over his head, and his back cracked into place. “Let’s go, then.” 

“What, now?” Aziraphale looked slightly startled. “But I just got here!” 

“It’s not exactly sitting around type of weather, is it?” 

Aziraphale considered this for a moment. “Is this because you’re cold?” 

“What? Because I’m - no, it’s - I’m not - I’m not cold!” Crowley spluttered. He shoved his glasses up his nose roughly. “Look, I don’t want to go wasting time when I could be drinking, alright?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Alright, dear.” 

The two pushed themselves up from the bench and began to make their way out of the park. The restaurant, a small Japanese place that made the best sushi in Soho9, was rather close to St. James Park and so they could easily walk there. 

Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. Crowley and Aziraphale walked from the Ritz to the park to Aziraphale’s bookshop nearly every day, with the Bentley there just in case their destination was too far by foot. They walked, as they always did, side by side, close enough that their hands would brush into each other’s every so often. 10

As they walked, Crowley began to notice that the temperature had gone from ‘ _ chilly but managable _ ’ to  _ ‘really fucking cold _ ’. As if proving this sudden revelation, a particularly strong gust of wind hit Crowley and he shivered, drawing his jacket tighter around him. 

Aziraphale was chattering on about something. It was mostly likely something to do with food, or maybe his books. Books and food were Aziraphale’s favorite things and Crowley knew from experience that if prompted, Aziraphale would ramble about those two topics for hours on end. Crowley just nodded when he needed to, occasionally letting out small sounds of agreement, not absorbing anything that the angel was saying. 

Another gust of wind hit him. Aziraphale’s voice sounded distant in Crowley’s ears. Was Aziraphale walking faster? Crowley looked down, focusing on trying to get his legs to move faster. 

His hands were slowly losing feeling. Distantly, a part of him knew that he should get out of the cold as soon as he possibly can, but that would mean cutting this walk short and Crowley wasn’t going to let a little cold ruin his day. 

Looking up, Crowley saw that Aziraphale was quite a few feet ahead of him, taking his conversation and warmth with him. He pouted unconsciously to himself and tried to drag his heavy limbs after the angel. 

“Crowley?” 

The demon blinked and Azirapahle was right in front of him, filling his vision. When had he gotten so close? Not that Crowley was complaining. The return of Aziraphale meant the return of his warm aura. Crowley felt himself lean in towards Aziraphale, like a plant seeking the sun. 

“I turned around and you weren’t there!” Aziraphale said, sounding worried. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m  _ jussst _ fine.” Crowley said, voice coming out slurred. He clumsily patted Aziraphale on his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.” 

Crowley’s hand lingered on Aziraphale’s shoulder, clutching at the fabric of the overcoat. Aziraphale grabbed it and laced his fingers through Crowley’s. 

Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, you’re freezing!” His spare hand came up to cup Crowley’s cheek. Crowley leaned into the touch, letting out a small, contented hum. 

“You know, if you dressed more appropriately for the weather, this wouldn’t happen.” Aziraphale said with no real bite in his voice. He pulled his hand away, and Crowley let out a small whine at the loss of the heat. 

With a quick tug, Aziraphale unwound the scarf from around his neck and held it out towards Crowley. 

“Keep your  _ sssscarf _ , don’t want it.” Crowley protested, trying to bat Aziraphale’s hands away from his neck. This attempt to fight the angel off didn’t end up working in Crowley’s favor, as Aziraphale was the one who wasn’t suffering from the symptoms of early onset hypothermia, and soon Crowley found himself standing in the middle of St. James Park with Aziraphale’s scarf wrapped a bit too tightly around him. 

Crowley pouted. The wool the scarf was made from was scratchy, and itched his nose. But even he had to admit that it helped to block most the wind from blowing so forcefully on the back of his neck. 

And it smelled like Aziraphale, which was a perk. 

Once he was sure that the scarf was properly in place, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand back into his own. “I’m going to miracle us back to the shop.” He said gently, as if explaining to a very small child that the sky was blue. 

“What about the  _ resssstaurant _ ?” Crowley asked, voice muffled by the scarf and fatigue. 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a Look. 11“The restaurant can wait until you feel up to it.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to protest that he was perfectly up for it, thank you very much, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Aziraphale squeezed his hand and they were standing in the backroom of Aziraphale’s shop. 

The sudden change in scenery sent Crowley’s head spinning. His knees buckled, and if it wasn’t for Aziraphale standing right in front of him, he would have collapsed to the ground. 

“Steady on.” Aziraphale said encouragingly, pulling Crowley into a more upright position, arms around the demons’ waist. He led Crowley over to the couch that was pushed up against the far wall, carrying most of Crowley’s weight as they crossed the room. 

He gently lowered Crowley onto the couch. With a look over his shoulder, the fireplace roared to life. “I could get you a cup of tea, if you’d like?” He offered. “It’ll warm you up.” 

Aziraphale started to pull away from Crowley, clearly intent on making the tea for Crowley and himself. Realizing that his main source of heat was trying to leave, Crowley reached up and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him down on the couch next to him. 

“Don’t go.” He mumbled as Aziraphale squawked out protests. “You’re warm.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale said, face flushed. “Well, then.” He settled himself back into the couch and Crowley that as an opportunity to tighten his grip on the angel, throwing one of his legs in Aziraphale’s lap and burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale watched the top of Crowley’s head, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He lifted his that wasn’t trapped in Crowley’s embrace, hesitated for a moment, and then began to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley all but melted into Aziraphale’s touch. If he was a cat, he would have started purring. Smiling, Aziraphale settled himself into a more comfortable position and continued to stroke Crowley's hair, admiring how surprisingly soft it was. 

They spent the rest of the evening like that, Crowley sleeping, using Aziraphale as a pillow, while the angel read. 

Later, once Crowley woke up, Aziraphale would offer him a drink and a promise to show him the restaurant another day. Crowley would take the drink with a grin and start up a conversation about nothing in particular. And they would pass the hours like that, pressed up against one another, Crowley's head on Aziraphale's shoulder, legs tangled together, talking long after the night bled into the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1 In fact he rather preferred it to anything else  
2Of whom are all humans, whose ability to see such things are sorely lacking  
3Crowley was rather thankful when the invention of sunglasses rolled around, although it is worth noting that he had quite a large hand in their creation, as he needed something to save his eyes from the light that never seemed to leave the angel.  
4 Such as the proper mating habits of dolphins. Aziraphale seemed to think they mated out of water, which was entirely incorrect, although for the life of him Crowley couldn't explain how exactly dolphins did mate  
5There were the smaller, more uncomfortable smiles that were usually the result of a less than savory joke Crowley made, and then there were the beaming ones, the ones that took up Aziraphale’s entire face and reminded Crowley of the sun  
6 Not that he would ever admit to seeking the angel out. They just both happened to live in London, in the same general area. How was he supposed to avoid the angel in such close quarters?  
7 Or more accurately, scream at  
8 The same one he and Aziraphale always sat at, no matter what, and could in all cases be called theirs  
9According to Aziraphale, who was usually right about these things  
10Sometimes Aziraphale would take Crowley’s hand, or Crowley would take his. Those were always Crowley’s favorite days, feeling the way Aziraphale’s hand fit perfectly into his own  
11Aziraphale had a great deal of Looks in his arsenal. This one in particular could be translated into ‘I love you, but you’re an idiot’


End file.
